Witness
by Peaches the First
Summary: Nothing like my other fics. Rated for graphic descriptions in later chapters. Spinelli's life went to pot after her parents got a divorce... but how much can one girl take? rr PLEASE! Um... a little note....
1. My Broken Family

Witness  
  
by Peaches  
  
A/N: Okay, this has nothing to do with my other fic, Those Returning. It takes place when the gang is in Grade 11. They're not as close as they used to be... well, they're actually not close at all. It's told from Spinelli's POV. It's inspired by The Wildflower Ministries, by VC Andrews.  
  
Disclaimer: Standard  
  
1. My Broken Family  
  
If you'd have asked his friends, they'd have told you that Ryan Phillip Wood was a kind, caring man, who loved life, was very social, and was a charitable benefit to our society.  
  
They'd have told you he treated his step-sons, Vitto Tybalt Spinelli and Joseph Antony Spinelli, like his own sons, and that his daughter, Ashley Mignonette Spinelli, was treated like a little princess. Maybe they'd have told you that he was understanding, and harboured no ill-feelings toward Robert Spinelli, his wife's ex-husband.  
  
You might have been told that he was strong in his convictions, loved his wife, Florence, with all his heart, and that he would never raise a hand to another human being.  
  
Well, that's a damn lie.  
  
Please allow me to shed some light on the shadowy curtain of lies that hang over 148 Third Street...   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I was 11 when my parents divorced. My brother Joey, who was 21 then, fresh out of prison, was home again, preparing to turn his life around. He was a spitting image of our father, Robert in his younger years. He had bright green eyes and a jovial smile (when he bothered to smile). Though he was short, he was well-built, probably because of the time he spent weight lifting in prison. I didn't hold any judgement against him for having been in jail. He was my brother, and I loved him. Besides, it was funny, the looks I got when I told people he'd been in prison. No one messed with me much after he got out.  
  
My other brother, Vitto, was 15, and as strange and mysterious to me as all teenagers were. He looked more like the men on our mother's side. He was tall and wiry, with the trademark jet-black Spinelli hair, and deep chocolate eyes. He looked like our Grandpa Gambini, our mother's father.  
  
I remember our parents calling us into the living room for a 'family discussion' one night in January. I hated those discussions. They usually revolved around not drinking out of the milk carton and who left the toilet seat up.   
  
That night, though, the atmosphere was different. Our parents were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, as though avoiding each other at all costs. My mother's eyes were slightly bloodshot, and she kept giving us the parental look that said 'We know what's best for you'. My father was sitting up rigidly straight, as though there was a steel pole in his spine.  
  
When they delivered the news, they followed it with the old 'We're only doing what we think is best for the family' speech. I don't remember much after that. Just a lot of yelling (mostly on my brothers parts) and crying (mostly on my part), some harsh words being said, and Vitto blowing up at dad and stomping out of the house. I don't think I'll ever forget what he said to dad that night.  
  
"I guess you can have your cake and eat it to, huh, dad? Or, in this case, your secretary!"  
  
I didn't understand back then, but I do now.   
  
Well, less then six months after the divorce, my mother got engaged to a man named Ryan Wood. At first glance, one could see why my mother had fallen for him. He was tall and only slightly chunky. His hair was blonde with little streaks of silver, which was understandable, considering both he and my mother were well-into their 40-something's when they met. His eyes were the most startling part about him. They were grey, but so light, there was almost no colour at all. In all honesty, his eyes scared me the most, aside from his other less-then-desirable traits.  
  
You see, Ryan liked his liquor. Worse then that, he was a violent drunk. How many nights did I lay awake in bed, just wondering what part of my mother's body her next bruise would be on, as I listened to their frequent yelling matches. No one else heard these, as I was the only child still living in that house. Joey had left for college in Little Rock, and Vitto and dad were working on their relationship, so he moved across town with our father. I lay listening to the sound of breaking glass, terrified that Ryan would run out of ways to take out his anger on mom, and decide to wail on me for a little while. Those nights were the scariest nights of my life. Of course there had been arguments when dad was still around, but nothing even close to this. If you asked my old friends, they'll probably say that's about the time I became sullen... withdrawn from everyone. I know I'd had a cocoon of anger and bitterness around me for most of my young life, but even my teachers had started to worry about me by the sixth and seventh grades.  
  
Now, years later, through the court-ordered therapy, my psychiatrist is attempting to make sense of my actions through all of this. She's already decided that the reason I started dressing in black when I was 12 was because of my "subconscious effort" to make myself unseen. Christ, I could have told her that. Well, whatever makes Miss Shrink happy is fine by me. Let her psycho-analyse me until her nose bleeds for all I care... It doesn't solve anything.   
  
It doesn't pull a blind over the events of October through November of 2003... and I don't know if anything ever will.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	2. Rifts

Witness  
  
by Peaches  
  
AN: Oh, I am SO glad you all liked it! I was so worried it was too depressing... and it might very well be a bit to depressing for some of you.But, anyway, I hope you like the next chapter!!  
  
2. Rifts  
  
I stayed a Spinelli after the divorce. Besides, would it have mattered if I had changed my name? Everyone already knew me as Spin or Spinelli anyway, so, whether I liked the name or not, I was basically stuck with it.  
  
Through grade 10, my friends, not the old gang (we never hung out anymore), but others, would almost constantly ask me what was wrong. I think TJ was more worried than any of them. I still can't believe I dragged him into it, but I did. I'm just thankful he's still around to go through the aftermath with me...  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"What the hell do you think you're wearing? You think you're leaving the house like that?"  
  
I was used to these daily interrogations. Ryan would always find something wrong with me in the morning, whether it was my clothes, my make up, my hair, or even what I ate for breakfast. This morning, I felt I looked rather good in a black tank-top, black and red plaid skirt with numerous safety pins adorning the hem, a fishnet top over my tank-top and fishnet tights, polished off by my favourite scuffed up combat boots. My panther black hair was long in partial dreds. And, of course, I never left the house without my spiked collar and bracelets.   
  
"Well, Ryan," I said dryly, "I am wearing what western civilization commonly classifies as clothing." I sounded out the last word like I was talking to a foreigner. My stepfather shot me a dirty, angry look, but he kept his mouth shut as I ate my breakfast of cold Pop-Tarts and black coffee. It wasn't until I was about to leave that he started at me again with his opinionated bull.  
  
"I told you you're not leaving the house like that," he snapped. I smiled grimly.  
  
"Would you rather I go naked?" I asked sardonically. "Because you know I will." He glared at me once more before I slammed the door on my way out. My bookbag perched on my shoulder, I quickly walked the three doors to TJ's house.  
  
TJ was about the only person I really kept in close contact with these days. Sure I had a acquaintances and everything, and I had gone out with a few guys since middle school, but TJ was the only one who still seemed to remember what I had been like before my life went to hell. He even seemed to want to bring me back. Rather useless, but I appreciated the gesture. One you go dark, there's not much hope of breaking out of it.  
  
TJ, while nowhere near the most outrageous boy I'd seen, was pretty high up on the list of people who wouldn't have been expected to punk out. In grade 9, he dyed his hair dark blue, wore his older brother's old jean jacket (decorated with a few of his own safety pins as a personal touch), and took the "Path of the Spikes". He certainly wasn't the young, freckle faced, stocky boy he had been back in the day, wearing the spikes and metal chains on his wrists and gelling his hair every other day. For one thing, he'd taken after his real dad and turned out rather wiry, but still pretty strong.  
  
TJ found out about his real father by accident. Just before his 13th birthday, he discovered his own adoption papers signed by the person he'd called dad his whole life. According to the papers, his mother was his mother, but his father was not William Detwhieler. His real father, a man by the name of Gregory Matthews, was living in New Orleans, and didn't seem to want anything to do with him. TJ had tried on several occasions to contact him, but his letters were all unanswered. It really tore the poor kid up, having been in such a happy, stable family. He really didn't know who to be madder at: His mother and the man who'd raised him, for not telling him, or his real father, for not contacting him. I really felt what he felt to some degree. Both of our childhoods were torn to shit by circumstance. Maybe that's why we were still friends after so long after the rest of the old gang disbanding.  
  
Starting up the steps to TJ's place, I could hear angry yelling inside. I stopped as I heard the doorknob turn. Within seconds, TJ appeared in the doorway, his usually palish face slightly red with anger. Not noticing me for a moment, he yelled an angry "GO SCREW YOURSELF!" to whoever was on the other side of the door. He noticed me after he slammed the door with enough force to knock over a hanging plant above the porch. His eyes darted to the ground and his face went it's usual white as he saw my gaze.  
  
"Hey," he muttered, hoisting his bookbag up on his shoulder and started toward me. We walked down the steps together. I knew better then to talk to him in this particular state. He always spoke when he was ready. I was sure he'd be fine by lunch at the latest. He usually only took a little while to feel better... unlike myself, who took at least a day to feel ready to talk after a fight.  
  
By the time we were two blocks from Washington High, where we both attended, he was already feeling a little better. He asked me how things were going between me and my mother. I told him what I told everyone else: I'm not buried, and neither is she... it could be worse.  
  
My mother and I were constantly at each others throats. She was always after me to clean up my act, and she never let me think for one moment that I was even remotely welcome in the house. I would have moved in with dad in a heartbeat, but I would have had to go to Jefferson High School across town. I'd never abandon TJ. Me and him were all each other had for support these days. I think we fed off each others pain to survive. It was like a symbiotic relationship. We co-existed with each other in a world that didn't seem to want us.   
  
Walking up the front stairs everyday was pure torture for anyone who was not a prep or jock at Washington High. It was the favourite hang out of anyone whose brain was as active as a ball of lint. I hated walking up the front stairs. Most of it was the presence of Vince LaSalle; Quarterback, Centre, Goalie, and general star of just about any sport you could think of. He never said anything to us when the jocks and preps would hiss at us or yell insults, but I never saw him try to stop it. He would either completely ignore us, or just laugh along coldly with his little sheep-like followers. There had always been some animosity between Vince and I. I know we had mainly gotten along in the past for TJ's sake, but it was harder now to be civil toward him, seeing as how I didn't have to be anymore.  
  
TJ left for first class a few minutes early. His first class was gym, and mine was writing. He wanted to get changed so he would have time to warm up before class. I has no worries about being late. Even if I was, Mr Jackman wouldn't yell at me. I was his prize pupil, scoring highest in all of the tenth grade last year on the exam, except for, of course Gretchen, who aced it.  
  
I didn't see that much of Gretchen anymore. For someone who had been my best friend for so long, she never did take much interest in keeping us that way. Of course, on the flip side, I was just as much to blame as she was. I think the intensity of my pain scared her. She was used to stability, facts, and evidence. She played it safe, relying on her calculations and formulas. I held no grudge. Some people are just that way. She spent most of her time in the Science laboratories, working out problems, and saving mankind and the likes.  
  
Gus I saw around every now and then. It was hard to even try to patch things up with a guy who looked like he could crush you with his thumb. He had passed nearly everyone in height, reaching his promised 6'4" by the age of 14. He was gangly at first, but followed his father around religiously that same summer, becoming pretty buff while he trained alongside his father's army recruits. He could be found in the library most days with his fellow army brats, playing Risk, like it was another little world he could escape to. I heard he won a few Risk championships when there were conventions in town. Maybe Gus was onto something; maybe we all need somewhere to escape to.  
  
Mikey had, inevitably, joined drama in grade 10. That same year, Washington High took first place in the State Drama Festival, and was beat only by California and New York at the Nationals. Winning third was a great honour for Arkansas. It was the furthest the school had ever gotten in the festival. I knew that Mikey would push himself and the others to win all the way this year. He really hadn't changed much. He'd lost a bit of weight, and I think we more or less just drifted because of separate interests more than anything. I liked Punk, and he liked Broadway; I liked action movies, he liked romance movies, whatever. As said before, that's just the way things happened. To tell the truth, I think he was a little bitter at me for scoring higher than him on the English exam.  
  
I never thought anything could bring us all together again. And if I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have wanted it to.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Fridays always drag on forever anyway, and, worse, Ryan was waiting with a full verbal assault when I got home. Mom came home an hour later and started getting on my case too, so I did what I normally did... I went to my room, locked my door, and blasted punk-metal loud enough that you could hear the bass at the end of the street. Normally, they would leave me alone when I did this, but tonight Ryan was more irritable then normal, Mom was on the verge of what looked like a meltdown, and it must have been Everybody Try To Piss Off Spinelli Day, because I was ready to blow the hell up.  
  
I was actually doing okay with my temper until about supper time.   
  
"Ashley, pass me the butter," Ryan muttered across the table, no 'please' or anything. I was about to tell him where to go, but I realized I could just watch him die a slow, painful death by loading him up with the cholesterol filled butter. I passed it to him, but my tongue was too fast for me.  
  
"I can see mom married you because of your manners."  
  
Wrong damn move on my part. I swear, I had never seen mom's eyes get so wide, or Ryan's mouth move so many times without any sound come out. Maybe what he was doing was the real meaning behind blowing hot air.  
  
"Go to your room," my mother hissed. "NOW!" Ryan, however, held his hand up to silence her, and just smiled sarcastically.  
  
"Let her stay," he sneered. "So, miss, you think you're so much better then the rest of us, do you? Well, by all means, give us your view of life, Miss Perfect. Tell me, what have you ever done that's of any significance?" His white-blue eyes blazed with malicious flame.  
  
"Leave me alone," I muttered.  
  
"No!" Ryan snapped. "Tell me what you know that we don't! None of us want to get in the way of the all mighty, all knowing Ashley Spinelli! Hell, without her around, her mother might be, dare I imagine it, HAPPY!!"  
  
"SHUT UP!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. In short, I snapped. Ryan's smile stayed plastered on his wicked face. Mom just sat there looking down at her plate quietly. I stood up, knocking the chair over as I did. As I stomped toward the door and pulled on my boots, Ryan's wrath kept coming like a verbal wasps nest.   
  
"That's right, run to your little boyfriend next door!" he yelled after me, following me to make sure I could hear every word. "Little tramp! You leave, don't even think about coming back!"  
  
"Fine! Agreed!" I yelled back. "By the way, the key to mom's happiness doesn't have anything to do with me! Beating up on your wife will tend to make her a bit depressed!"  
  
CRACK  
  
The side of my face was tinted red as I ran sobbing to TJ's house.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	3. A Slip of the Tongue

Witness  
  
by Peaches the First (Peaches3 looked so unprofessional!)  
  
AN: (grins and bows) Whew, I didn't know how making TJ a punk would go over with everybody! Glad it worked out! And, no, GMK, you're not just weird, The symbiotic relationship was supposed to sound that way! Enjoy!  
  
3. A Slip of the Tongue   
  
"Are you sure you're alright?" TJ asked as he sat down next to me on his livingroom couch. I could only nod miserably. I feared that if I spoke too much the tears would start again. TJ handed me a cup of hot chocolate, which, as anyone knows, is a universal cure for unhappiness. I smiled briefly as I took the mug. I never realized how warm the place where Ryan hit me was until the drink warmed the rest of my face to the same temperature.  
  
"Thanks," I braved saying. "Are you sure your parents won't mind me here when they get back?" I asked, feeling I could get a hold on m tears.  
  
"They don't even know I'm here half the time," TJ snorted, his blue hair falling into his eyes. I could see the chestnut roots beginning to grow out underneath. "Besides, they won't be home 'til late anyway. You said you're not staying the night... even though I really don't want you to go back there."  
  
"I'll be fine," I insisted, "Really." TJ raised a sceptical eyebrow, causing his piercing to move a little. The little silver barbell looked good on him. Most people couldn't pull it off, no matter how hard they tried to. But on TJ, it just worked.  
  
"You could call your dad and stay over there," TJ suggested. He sounded so worried, I smiled a little after I swallowed a mouthful of hot chocolate.  
  
"Okay, I'll consider it," I said. "Happy?" TJ grinned for the first time in ages.  
  
"Yup," he said. He glanced at the floor for a moment and looked at me. "Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you."  
  
"Yeah, well, talk," I said. He looked a bit down again as he spoke.  
  
"Well, me and you," he said. "We tell each other everything, right?" I nodded a bit. "Well, you know I wrote to my dad... my real dad, right?" I nodded again. "He wrote back."  
  
I was totally struck. My voice was caught in my throat. Finally, after a minute of choking on my words, I found my voice again.  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah," TJ said, smiling a little. "He said the reason he never wrote back before is because his wife took the letters before he could get my address."   
  
"Teej, that's great!" I said. I was genuinely happy for him for about three seconds.  
  
"He wants me to move to New Orleans with him."  
  
That stopped me dead in my tracks. TJ just... he could NOT move!  
  
"Teej, William adopted you... isn't it illegal for you to move with Gregory? I mean... that would be like kidnapping, right?" I knew it was selfish, but I didn't care. Where would I be without TJ? It would be like Ben without Jerry, The Lone Ranger without Tonto, The Prankster Prince without Girl Who Runs With Fists!  
  
"I don't know," TJ shrugged. "I was kind of hoping you'd give me some advice. You're good at it."  
  
I thought for a minute.  
  
"In all honesty, Teej," I said. "I'm happy for you..."  
  
  
  
"But?" TJ asked, knowing there was one coming.  
  
"I don't want..." I stopped myself. I wanted to tell him I didn't want him to move; I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it if he left, but it would sound so selfish and I honestly wanted him to be happy. "I don't want to get involved." I lied finally.  
  
"Oh," TJ said, sounding disappointed. "Well, I was kind of hoping you'd beg me to stay..."  
  
"No, you weren't," I said. "You wanted me to tell you to go for it. I know you better then that." TJ grinned.  
  
"You don't know me as well as you think then, Spin."  
  
"Don't I?" I asked. "I know you better than you know yourself, Theodore Detwhieler!"  
  
"Yeah, well, how old was I when I stopped sucking my thumb?" he challenged. I grinned back at him, though the side of my face burned with protest.  
  
"You stopped?" I shot back. He held his hand up in mock defeat.   
  
"Yeah, you got me!" he groaned. I laughed and TJ beamed.  
  
"You don't know how long it's been since I've seen you laugh," he said. "I thought the world was ending." I smiled again and rolled my eyes.  
  
"That sounded like a cheesy pass if I ever heard one," I snorted. TJ smiled and shook his head.   
  
"Who'd be idiotic enough not to make a pass at you?" he asked. For a minute, I thought he was still joking, but one look at his face told me he wasn't.   
  
  
  
When TJ was joking or lying, he got a little crinkle up in the corner of his eye that I had spotted the first time I met him. That was the only way to tell if he was serious or not, that little crinkle, because Teej was an amazing liar.  
  
"Are you serious?" I asked, ready to catch him in a lie, even with the absence of the crinkle. He nodded.  
  
"If I weren't your friend, I would be after you faster then Ashley Armbruister went down on LaSalle!" he said seriously. I smirked.  
  
"That was, like, Mach 4," I snorted. "She's been down on so many guys people are starting to think she's her own escort service."  
  
"Nice to see you're back to your prep-bashing self," TJ laughed, "even if you are changing the subject."  
  
"You seriously want to talk about it?" I asked. He shrugged and nodded.   
  
"Can you blame me?" he asked innocently. "You were my first kiss, after all."  
  
"I can't believe you still remember that!" I laughed. I could barely remember that little "experiment" of Gretchen's, and Teej's memory was far worse than mine.  
  
"A crowning moment in my life," he laughed. I smiled and rubbed my temples as I laughed. When I looked up, TJ's face had gone solemn again. "I thought you'd stopped," he said simply. I was puzzled.  
  
"Stopped?" I asked, truly lost as to the topic of this conversation. He took my arm and turned my wrist up toward him. Red lines ran along the vein, barely healed. I looked away, my cheeks flushing with shame. "Look, I was..."  
  
"Spin, why the hell do you do this to yourself?" he asked sternly, the amount of worry in his voice making tears spring to my eyes. I had no answer that seemed to justify the week-old scars on my arm. "I hate it when you go on these self-pity binges! You can talk to me about anything! You should know that!"  
  
"I'm sorry," I murmured, pulling my arm out of his grasp. He sat there looking at me with so much question and concern I felt guilty. "I'm really sorry."  
  
"I'm worried about you, Spinelli," he admitted. "The 'little miss tough girl' act may work on some others, but I knew you back when you were innocent. How many people can say that?"   
  
"Mainly just you," I admitted. He was still looking at me as I turned my eyes to the floor.  
  
"I love you to much to let anything happen to you, Spin," he said quietly. I stared at him with disbelief as I, as well as he, realized what he had just said. "Sorry," he apologized quickly, scratching at his eyebrow piercing like he always did when he was nervous. "Slip of the tongue."  
  
"No problem, Teej," I assured him, wishing it hadn't been.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Are you sure you'll be alright?" TJ asked, standing in the doorway of his house as I walked onto the porch. I smiled a bit.   
  
"If I need anything I'll scream," I promised. He smiled nervously. It was past one in the morning. "Look," I said, pointing to my house. "Ryan's not even home." This seemed to console him a little. Ryan's car was gone from the driveway.   
  
"Be careful, okay?" he told me, grabbing my arm gently before I turned away. I smiled again.   
  
"You worry too much," I said. He looked at me incredulously.  
  
"He called you a tramp and smacked you in the face... what else do you think I'm going to do but worry?" he asked.  
  
"Well, thanks for worrying," I said as he let go of my arm. "Really, I mean it, thanks."  
  
He looked away as I said that, sighing with disappointment. "My parents wouldn't care if you stayed the night," he told me. "You know that, Spin." I smiled teasingly.  
  
"If I never knew better, I'd say you wanted me to stay for other reasons," I said with a sly smile. He chuckled.  
  
"Well, a guy can dream, can't he?" TJ asked, faking defeat. His face grew serious. "Careful, Spin."  
  
"I will be," I assured him. "See you tomorrow." With that, I walked the three doors to my house.  
  
I wish to god that I had stayed at TJ's that night.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	4. Mommy Dearest

Witness   
  
by Peaches  
  
A/N: Have I told you guys how much I love you? Y'all are so nice!!! Thanks for the reviews! Those of you who haven't... DO IT!!!  
  
4. Mommy Dearest  
  
The house was deathly quiet when I entered. I knew Ryan was gone, and mom was probably gone to bed. I didn't even bother turning any lights on as I found my way to my room.   
  
Mom's bedroom door was slightly open when I passed it. A small strip of silvery moonlight escaped from the room. I decided to close it for her. I may have hated her sometimes, but at least I was considerate. Before closing it, I looked in. Mom was laying stomach down on her bed with her head facing the window. I sighed, knowing she had probably cried herself to sleep again.  
  
I carefully closed the door and resumed the trek to my room. Changing into my worn flannel pyjama bottoms and an old tank top, I lay in bed for a long time before I finally found sleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I woke with a start at about 3 in the morning. The murky blackness of my room came into focus slowly as I gathered my bearings. What had woken me?  
  
I gingerly stood and opened my door a crack to peak out into the hallway. I heard the front door shut and the unmistakable clomp of Ryan's boots on the stairs. Shutting the door as far as I could while still leaving a small crack to see through, I peered into the hallway with a perfect view of the bedroom my mother lay in. I saw him stand in a drunken stupor outside his room, looking at the closed door like some foreign object. I realized I hadn't heard mom get up once that night.  
  
Holding my breath for some reason, I watched him go into the room. I had a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that told me something was definitely wrong. I couldn't explain it, but I knew there was something peculiar about Ryan's actions. I heard a shuffling sound in the room. Scared for some odd reason, I closed my door softly and leaned against it. I didn't want to see what was happening anymore. Strangely, the bruise forming on the side of my face started to throb heavily and I had to see what was going on.  
  
Waiting silently, I heard Ryan's footsteps exit the room, though somewhat slower then before. When I heard him walk down the stairs and hit the bottom landing, I opened my door and followed warily. I peeked around the railing at the top of the stairs and saw a clear view of the front door... but he wasn't there. I could hear his footsteps in the livingroom now, heading toward the kitchen. I cautiously made my way down the stairs, but only halfway. Where I sat on the stairs, I could see him in the kitchen, kneeling down next to the counter. I was cloaked in darkness when he stood and made his way out the back door quickly. I held my breath as I heard the back gate swing open, and I sat for a full 5 minutes before I decided he really was gone.   
  
Curiosity being a disease in my family, I made my way into the kitchen to see what he had been doing. I was expecting what I thought was the worse... but what I found was a full 100 times more critical.  
  
Her body was sprawled artificially on the kitchen floor next to the counter below the sink. Her head was twisted at a weird angle and her eyes stared blankly up at me in a ghostly gaze. My mother's beautiful hair, the raven locks I had inherited, and her heart shaped face were both coated with a sticky layer of half clotted blood. She was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing when I left the house earlier, her favourite jeans and a Hard Rock Café tee-shirt, which was also holding remnants of her blood.  
  
I fell against the wall and sank to a sitting position. My mouth was agape in horror. My mother, the woman who had brought me into this world and raised me, was laying on the floor in front of me dead, and drenched in her own blood. I felt a ripping sick feeling in my stomach, but held it back desperately.   
  
Finally, my brain restarted. 'Phone,' I thought, and crawled to the livingroom to get the cordless phone. I was barely thinking when I dialled 911.  
  
"911," a woman's voice answered. "What is your emergency?"  
  
"My... my mother," I choked out. "My mom is... is... I think she's dead..." It sounded so strange and foreign coming from my own mouth. I never thought I would ever have to say that.  
  
"Miss? Can you tell me your address? Miss?" the woman said, her frantic voice cloaked with fake calm. "Miss, are you there? Can you tell me your name?"  
  
"148 Third Street," I said, my brain hardly processing. "My name's Ashley... Ashley Spinelli." No matter how long I looked at her body, I couldn't bring myself to believe that it was my mother laying there.  
  
"Ambulance and Police crews are on the way, Ashley. Is there anyone else I can contact for you?" The woman's voice was so full of concern, I had a hard time not crying.   
  
"My... my dad," I croaked, feeling the tears well up in my throat. "My dad, Robert Spinelli. He's at 27 Harvester Road. His number is... it's 368-9784."  
  
'Someone will be there shortly," she said. I could already hear sirens in the distance. The phone dropped from my ear. I swam in a soundless environment as the police and ambulance technicians came through the door. The police chief, Chief Lawson (yes, the one and only Lawson's father) someone I'd had a few encounters with, some good, some bad, was the first to find me curled up on the floor. After some persuasion, he coaxed me outdoors as I saw the white sheet go over my mother.  
  
I don't know when dad got there, or even how long he and Vitto were standing with me before I realized they were there. My brother hugged me for the longest time, the first real contact we'd had since the last time we beat each other up when I was 10. My father stood in disbelief and shock as the police attempted to question me. I think it was Mrs Detwhieler who ended up telling them I was in no state to be questioned. She covered me with a blanket and hugged me as well.   
  
I heard TJ's voice above everyone else. I don't know what he was saying, but I know it was the clear ring of his voice that brought me back to reality.  
  
"Spin, are you okay? " I heard him ask. He was standing in front of me in his boxers and a jean jacket, shivering with the bite of the early fall night. I couldn't find and words to express the fact that no, I was not alright. I had just found my mother laying dead on the kitchen floor, of course I wasn't alright!  
  
"I understand that, Lauren," I could hear Officer Lawson saying with frustration to Mrs Detwhieler. "But I need to get some information as to what Miss Spinelli saw. She is the only credible witness to a crime..."  
  
"That girl has been through enough tonight!" Lauren was saying with anger. "Do you want to traumatize her any more?"  
  
Before I could hear what Officer Lawson replied, I felt a pair of arms wrap around me. I sank into the hug gratefully, not having a clue who it was. I only realized it was TJ when he was pulled aside by another officer to be question. I looked at him pleadingly.   
  
"How close are you to the witness?" the cop asked.  
  
"I'm her best friend," he said, not taking his eyes off me.  
  
"Just friends?" the cop asked. TJ smirked.   
  
"What, I'm friends with a girl and I'm automatically screwing her? Is that it?"  
  
"Just answer the question, boy," the officer growled.  
  
"Yeah, we're just friends," TJ muttered.  
  
"When did you last see the witness?" the cop asked.  
  
That was the last thing I heard from that conversation. My father was talking to one of the ambulance drivers next to me.   
  
"Why would you bring Ashley to the hospital?" he was asking.  
  
"We're afraid she may go into shock, Mr Spinelli," the driver explained. "It's called Post Traumatic Stress. It's not uncommon for people in her situation." My father nodded.   
  
"I'm allowed to travel with her, yes?"  
  
"Of course you can," the driver said. "You or your son."  
  
"I will," my dad said. "Vitto, you can take the car and meet us there, alright?" Vitto nodded and took the car keys. He gave me another hug before they made me climb into the ambulance.  
  
I swear that somewhere in the darkness of my own imagination, I could hear Ryan laughing.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	5. Vultures

Witness  
  
by Peaches the First  
  
AN: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!! It feel great to be loved!  
  
5. Vultures  
  
When my eyes fluttered open sometime the next afternoon, I saw my other older brother, Joey, sitting in a chair next to my hospital bed. I hadn't seen him since two Christmases ago at Gramma Spinelli's house. He was living in Little Rock now, working at a construction company as a junior engineer. It took my eyes a moment to focus, presumably because I had been drugged up by doctors who were afraid I'd go ballistic.   
  
"Hey, kid," he smiled when he saw I was awake. I looked at him with confusion for a moment. He looked so much older than the last time I'd seen him.   
  
"When did you get here?" I asked groggily. His slight smile faded.  
  
"A few hours ago," he said. "I came when dad told me... about mom." I looked down.  
  
"She's dead, isn't she?" I asked quietly, already knowing the answer. Joey nodded and looked down as well.   
  
"Yeah, Ash, she is." I was shocked to see tears in my 26 year old brother's eyes  
  
I pulled my knees up to my chest as I sat up. I couldn't believe it. I had seen the white sheet pulled over her, but I didn't want to believe it was true.   
  
"How'd it happen, Ash?" Joey asked me seriously, regaining his tough demeanor. I was about to open my mouth when I felt a presence in the door.  
  
"I'd like to hear this as well," said the man who had been in the doorway, walking uninvited into the room. I glowered at him. Who did he think he was?   
  
"I'm sorry, you are?" Joey asked, standing up to meet the man. Joey was not tall. He reached about 5'9", but he had a muscular build that was rather threatening at times. The man who had walked in was about 6'2", but he was the scrawniest 50-something year old I had ever seen. His hair was pepper grey and his skin looked rubbery. He looked ridiculously formal in a grey business suit and trench coat.  
  
"I'm Detective Rudd," he introduced himself, shaking Joey's hand firmly. Joey looked at him suspiciously before Rudd flashed his badge. Joey didn't like cops or anyone having anything to do with cops. He wasn't a criminal anymore, but it was a quirk he had acquired from his darkened past. "I'm here to investigate the death of Florence Wood."  
  
"She's a minor, detective," he told Rudd mater of factly. "She can't talk without the presence of a guardian. And if she does, it's illegitimate. And tell my father to call this number for a lawyer," he finished, passing Rudd a business card.  
  
"Where is her father?" Rudd asked grudgingly. Joey motioned to the door.   
  
  
  
"He's in the cafeteria getting coffee," Joey said. Rudd glared at him and left. Joey grimaced after him. " I know I've seen him somewhere," he muttered. "Probably with one of the other inmates or something back in the day." He then turned his attention to me. "That Detwhieler woman was here earlier with TJ," he told me. "They're downstairs now. I think she went with Vitto to dad's and picked up some clothes for you."  
  
"Great," I said unenthusiastically. A half hour later, dad, Vitto, the cop that had questioned TJ, and Rudd appeared in the room. Close behind them was Joey's old lawyer, Mr Stephenson. Rudd had his pad and pen out to take notes, as did the cop. Dad held my hand while I told them all what happened.  
  
"From the beginning, Miss," Rudd said professionally. I shuddered a sigh and started.  
  
"Me and Ryan got in a fight at supper, so I left the house and went to Teej's place..."  
  
"Teej?" Rudd asked, his pen still moving.  
  
"TJ Detwhieler, my best friend," I muttered. "He lives at 154 Third Street. Anyway, I was there 'til about one. I went home and Ryan's truck was gone. I didn't turn on any lights, I just went to my room... wait, I closed mom's door, then I went to my room..."  
  
"Why did you close the door?" Rudd interrupted again.  
  
"Because it was open," I said plainly. "I saw her asleep inside and I closed it."  
  
"I thought you didn't turn on any lights," he challenged. I glared at him.  
  
"Moonlight, genius," I snapped. He narrowed his eyes, but waved for me to continue.  
  
"I fell asleep around two, but I woke up at three. I guess the car door shutting woke me or something. I opened the door enough to see Ryan outside mom's bedroom. I saw him go in, then I shut the door..."  
  
"Why?" It was Rudd again.  
  
"Because I was scared, dipwad," I said. "Ryan looked drunk." Dad cleared his throat in warning. "I opened it again when I heard him walk downstairs." I looked at Rudd. "Because I was curious, and I followed him. I stopped halfway down the stairs and I saw him in the kitchen. I heard him leave through the backdoor and I went to see why he'd been in the kitchen... and she was there."  
  
"Was she dead?" the cop asked. I nodded. "That's when you called 911?" I nodded again. Vitto was pacing rubbing his temples and Joey was staring into space.  
  
"Thank you, Miss Spinelli," the cop said. "You've been a great help. Our investigation is continuing." He started to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "I'm sorry for your loss." Dad nodded. The cop stopped looked at me curiously.   
  
"One more thing, before I forget." He flipped his notepad back a few pages. "Where did you get that bruise?" he asked. Rudd looked at me with question as well. I touched the side of my face and looked down.  
  
"From Ryan before I left," I said. Dad's grip on my hand tightened slightly. I heard a squeak as Vitto turned on his heal toward me. The cop jotted that down as well. He tipped his hat and left. Rudd nodded and left too. Joey was staring at me with worry.   
  
"You never told anyone Ryan ever hit you," he said. I shrugged.  
  
"It was only from time to time," I muttered. "He'd usually beat up on mom." Vitto's face went white.  
  
"I'll kill him," he muttered. "I'll fuckin' kill him if I find him first. I knew there was something about him I didn't like!"  
  
"Shut up, Vitto," I muttered.  
  
"Are you okay to come home with us?" dad asked me. "They're ready to release you." I nodded. He pulled a bag out from under the bed and passed it to me. "Lauren brought this to you. She thought you might need it."  
  
In the bag were an old pair of jeans I had left at dad's a few months ago and my black Metallica tee-shirt. The others left to wait for me as I got dressed. I heard dad talking to Mr Stephenson as I changed.  
  
"Mr Spinelli, I've worked with Detective Rudd before," Stevenson was saying. "He's harsh and strict, but he's a damn good detective. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's him."  
  
  
  
"Thanks, Roy," dad said. "Can't say I was looking forward to seeing you again, in all honesty."  
  
"I get that a lot," Stephenson said. "If you need anything, or if anyone else contacts you for questioning, you have my number."  
  
"Yeah, thanks."  
  
"Mr Spinelli?" came a woman's voice. "Are you of close relation to the decease?"   
  
"Yes, she's my... ex-wife."  
  
"I need you to come down and identify the body for us," the woman said. "I'm sorry, but it's protocol."  
  
"Certainly, just a minute." His knock came at the room door. "Ashley?"  
  
I opened the door, having just finished throwing my other clothes into the bag. "Yeah?"  
  
  
  
"I've got to attend to something," he explained, not knowing I had heard the whole conversation. "Lauren is down in the waiting room, would you and your brothers go stay with her until I get back? It should only take a few minutes."  
  
"Sure," I said. He squeezed my shoulder before walking away with the nurse. I followed Vitto and Joey as they made their way to the waiting room. Lauren and TJ were sitting in two of the cushy chairs. Lauren looked to be sleeping.  
  
"Spin!" TJ said as he saw me. He got up and, before I could say anything, he'd hugged me. I smiled a bit and hugged him too. It felt sort of nice after all the formality of being questioned. "Are you alright?" he asked when he let me go. I nodded a bit, not really feeling like speaking at the moment. I saw Vitto smirk a bit at TJ and me. I remembered he had heard the cop interrogate TJ that morning.  
  
"Mrs Detwhieler?" Joey said, waking TJ's mother up. Lauren woke up rather slowly. She smiled at Joey. "Thanks for everything, Lauren."  
  
"No problem, Joseph," she assured him in a motherly tone. "I've known your family since me and your parents were in grade school. It's the least I can do." Her eyes grew teary. I knew she and my mother had been very close as children.  
  
"Alright, are you ready to go home?" my father asked as he walked into the room. His face was a chalky white colour. Joey stood and Vitto walked over to where he was standing. "Thank you so much for everything, Lauren," dad said, repeating basically what Joey had said. Vitto just smiled a little and nodded. She shook her head and smiled slightly.  
  
"Think nothing of it," she said. "It's nothing, really."  
  
"We're off, then," dad said, grasping my shoulder. "We've got to go settle some things." We left the waiting room. TJ and his mom followed us, with TJ gripping my hand the whole way out. "Thanks again, Lauren," he said as we reached the main hospital entrance. TJ smiled as I slipped my hand out of his.  
  
A wave of press and cameras greeted us. Microphones were shoved into my face violently. Joey walked in front of me, blocking the torrent of questions being thrown every which-way. He was rather used to this part.  
  
"Vultures," he muttered, opening the front seat passenger door for me. "I don't care if it's their job, they're like wolves." I climbed into dad's car, trying to ignore the flashbulbs and lights that were threatening to blind me. I could just see what the people at school were going to say when dad let me go back.  
  
"You're not going to make me go to Jefferson High, are you?" I asked dad suddenly as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot onto the main road. He looked at me oddly for a minute.  
  
"You want to go back to school?" he asked. I shrugged. "Not if you don't want to go to Jefferson. I won't make you go at all, but you can go back to Washington if you want."  
  
The car was silent the whole ride back to dad's place. I wondered for a minute how all of us were supposed to live in a 2 bedroom apartment. I figured I'd end up taking Vitto's room and him and Joey would sleep in the living room.  
  
When we got inside, I immediately noticed some things. First off, it wasn't messy. For as long as I had been going to dad's during holidays, I always remembered there being a pile of dishes in the sink and the broom collecting cobwebs in the corner. Second, there was a tablecloth on the kitchen table. Since when did my dad and Vitto eat at the table instead of in front of the tv? Third, there was a small herb garden growing in a long trough-like pot in the kitchen window. This was definitely the work of a woman.  
  
"Who is she?" I asked as dad walked in the apartment after me. I slipped off my boots and walked into the kitchen, admiring the fact that, whoever she was, she had managed to keep two of the pigs I called family relatively clean. Dad looked down.  
  
"Her name is Wendy, and I was going to introduce you to her come Christmas if we were still together." I nodded. I said nothing as I walked into the living room and sat on the couch. I stared off into space as the boys tried to figure out where I was going to sleep.  
  
"I'll take the couch," Vitto said. Joey shrugged.   
  
"I'll just take the floor or something," he muttered. No one was very talkative. Vitto, Joey, and I had just lost our mother, and Robert had lost the woman he had been married to for 22 years. What was there to talk about?  
  
"I'm going to bed," I announced. No one tried to stop me as I walked to Vitto's room and closed the door. I don't know if I fell asleep so much as I passed out. I heard dad call me once that supper was ready, and once more that I had a phone call, but I was too far into sleep to care, or even process his words properly. Laying on my back at one point, I remember thinking vaguely about Monday. I was definitely going to school. I wouldn't allow any of them to talk about me without me being there to kick each and every one of their sorry asses.  
  
I remember one thing from that night that stands out above the rest. Somewhere in the depths of my consciousness I could see Ryan's face. His hateful glower burned behind my eyelids, his eyes stinging into mine.   
  
I can't be sure, but I heard a whisper in my head in his hissing voice.  
  
"Sleep tight tonight... it might be your last."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I woke constantly, barely 15 minutes between my eyes fluttering shut and flying open again. My stomach held a large not, and the back of my throat burned from tears unshed. Dad had told me, I remembered vaguely, that Police Chief Lawson wanted me in to give a statement about the scene of the crime tomorrow at the station.  
  
The scene of the crime. A house I'd lived in my whole life, and it was the scene of a horrendous crime. The same house I'd had countless friends sleep over to, where I'd spent Christmas eves when I was little staring up into the sky waiting to see Santa until I fell asleep and was carried upstairs to bed by my father. No matter how many screaming matches or even fist fights I'd had with family members, it was still my home, and the thought of it shrouded in police tape made me sick.  
  
I don't know how they expected me to sleep. I was exhausted, of course, but my mind was too full to rest. I was especially worried as to the whereabouts of my stepfather. No one had given me an updated account of the situation with him. Was he waiting, skulking, lying in the shadows for an opportunity to pounce and finish me off as well? Was he even in the city?   
  
'Of course he's still in town,' I thought with a slight quiver in my stomach. 'He left the house on foot.'  
  
Unable to do anything but toss and turn, I finally stood up out of bed and went to the kitchen. If I couldn't sleep, I was going to occupy myself with something else. Maybe a game of solitaire or some cold Chinese food. Anything to silence the spark of fear ignited in my gut.   
  
I stepped quietly around Joey and Vitto, who were both passed out on the couches. The linoleum was cold under my feet. Stone, dead cold.  
  
Like my mother.   
  
I shook the thought from my head, but couldn't shake the feeling of eyes burrowing into my back no matter which way I turned. Whatever demon watched me was ever vigilant and intent on breaking me into insanity, which I felt was not far off.  
  
Unable to stand the omnipresent feeling, I left my game of solitaire, cards still scattered on the table. I tried not to slam the door on my non-existent pursuer before I jumped into Vitto's bed and pulled the covers up over my head. Curled up into a ball, I felt myself shaking. The stinging feeling in the back of my throat wasn't going to fade any time soon, I knew, until I broke down and cried. I wouldn't allow myself to. I had already broken once a little over 48 hours ago, when I'd run to TJ's house after my interlude with Ryan, but I would not - could not - allow myself to give into the pain again.  
  
'I wish TJ was here.'  
  
The thought startled me momentarily, until I realized it wasn't that odd. He'd been there for me for so much, it was only natural I would want him here now. The thing that really surprised me was how much I wanted him to be there just to hold me. Not to talk. Not to cry to. Just to hold me.   
  
I was just stressed. At least that's what I told myself. I was merely in a state of distress and I was turning to irrational thoughts to calm myself.  
  
I fell asleep, uneasily this time. Sound sleep was light-years away. The thought of having TJ with me was what saved me from the dark, tormenting nightmares that were ready to swoop in on me in a moment of weakness.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	6. Rainy Days and Mondays

6. Rainy Days and Mondays  
  
A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry! Sorry so short, and sorry it took so long! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! (sobs)... (sniffles) enjoy! r/r please!

Funeral.  
  
Funny how it seems so alien and sterile in our everyday vocabulary. No one really knows how to act at funerals. Everyone just walks around in a cold, sombre trance, telling you what a great woman your mother was, and how sorry they are. You have to sit through the pitying stares and the fake embraces from adults who formerly thought you were a bad egg. Then you have to sit through the mindless speeches the adults give, each repeating what the others said until you feel like standing up and screaming at them for prolonging this stupid ritual torture.  
  
Then everyone leaves the church and drives behind the body in the hearse - the woman they all loved so much - in a morbid, accursed parade the seems to last forever as you make your way to the final resting place of that woman you swore on when she wasn't around. This woman who nagged you to pick up your clothes and eat your vegetables; who compared you constantly to your friends and siblings; who washed and ironed and cooked and scrubbed and worked a dead end job as a teller at the post office, and never asked for anything in return except that you clear your supper dishes and do your homework with the music turned down.  
  
And I hated her.  
  
I hated her for making dad leave, and for bringing that psychopath into our house, and for never picking up for me when he berated me. I hated her for being so omnipresent in my guilty conscience and for not letting me watch wrestling on weeknights. I hated her for finding out about bad grades, and for not remembering to pick me up after Drama rehearsals, and never coming to the performances I was in. I hated her so much I was always left with a deep, hallow feeling in my chest when I saw her cry... guilt for not feeling sorry for her.  
  
Dad parked in the parking lot of the Riverview Cemetery. We all sat there for a minute as everyone got out of their cars around us. Vitto and Joey were the first to get out. They put on their toughest faces to fool the other mourners who had no way of knowing how hard they'd actually cried on Sunday night. Dad looked at me gently.  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
"Will I ever be?" came my response. Dad just nodded understandingly and patted my hand.   
  
"You come up when it feels right," he said softly, then climbed out of the car. I watched him walk up the gravel path with the other mourners, his black suit disappearing in the forlorn crowd.   
  
I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to take the spare key and hit the gas, then just let the road guide me away from my life. I could move to New Orleans and open a poetry café, or a voodoo supply store. I could go to Niagra Falls and run a cheesy tourist gift shop and sell figurines that were stamped "Made in Taiwan". I could go anywhere I wanted...  
  
But I finally opened my door and climbed out of the car. I didn't walk up right away. Instead I leaned up against the car, closed my eyes and breathed in a few deep, cleansing breaths. I could do this... I would do this...  
  
"Ashley?"  
  
I opened my eyes and saw a sombre looking girl standing before me. Her eyes were bloodshot and her ebony sweater was a little frumpy and wrinkled. It took me a moment to realize who it was. Auburn hair, pale green eyes, black rimmed Lisa Loeb glasses...  
  
"Oh, god, Ashley, I'm so sorry."  
  
Gretchen wrapped me up in a tight, firm hug. Though I was surprised, I allowed myself to accept this long overdue gesture as a sign of apology. I was truly grateful she was there, though you'd have not judged it from my actions. I remained stiff and cold. When Gretchen pulled away, there were new tears in her eyes.  
  
"Please, say something to me!" she begged. I looked at her with narrow eyes.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I finally asked as a few more people passed us. Gretchen looked down and fumbled with a loose string on her sweater..   
  
"I thought I owed it to Florence to be here," she said quietly. "She was so good to me when my mother was in that accident a few years ago."  
  
Gretchen's mother had been in a car accident three years prior and was now paralysed from the waist down. My mother had listened to Gretchen sob for endless hours about how unfair it was. She'd treated her like a daughter, and was confused when we lost contact.  
  
"What, a simple Thank You card wouldn't have been sufficient?" I snapped. I knew it was a bitchy thing to do, but I didn't feel like listening to the adults gush about my mother, let alone my old friends.  
  
"I understand what you must be feeling," Gretchen said softly, reaching out to pat my arm. "I did a project on grief for a psychology class I'm doing at the university..."  
  
"Don't for one moment, Gretchen Grundler, think that you know how I feel, or what it was like to live in that house," I snapped acridly. "Just don't."  
  
She stood there for a moment, looking down uncomfortably. "I know." She finally said. "I do. Just because we lost touch is no reason to..."  
  
"Lost touch?" I asked, suddenly livid. "Lost touch? Who lost touch? Wasn't it you who made up excuse after excuse when I would call you? Everything from tutoring to god-knows what else! Homework was the famous one, right? Even though I know you finished all you homework up to the 11th grade a long time ago. All the 'I have to go finish my math' and the 'I'll call you back after this show,'... And you never did. Pretty soon, you were just getting your parents to screen your calls, so I stopped calling."  
  
Tears in her eyes started spilling, and she had to take off her glasses to wipe them away. "God, Spinelli, you don't know how guilty I feel about that! I still have you on my speed-dial right under dad's work number, did you know that? I still find myself picking up the phone afterschool to call you while I watch "The Immature and the Reckless", like we used to. But you... you were just in so much pain... and I couldn't help you..."  
  
My tears were still at bay. I watched Gretchen pull out a tissues and dab her eyes with it before taking a deep breath to regain control.   
  
"I'm sorry, Gretch," I murmured. She nodded, trying to fake a smile. She failed. "Really I am."  
  
"I know, Spin. I lashed out too when mom was in a coma." She wrapped her arms around me in a hug, which I returned this time.  
  
"Gretchen?"  
  
It was not my voice, but the voice of the blue haired boy in a ridiculously formal looking dress shirt and tie, with a black blazer taken off and hanging in his left hand. On his face was a strange look. A cross between confusion, pride, and sadness. As Gretchen released me and turned to the boy, she straightened her skirt and sweater, and nodded courteously.  
  
"Theodore," she acknowledged.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, though much less curtly than I had.   
  
"Paying my respects," she said softly. "And repairing old rifts."  
  
"Good to hear," he said. Though I know he meant it, his voice was bland and tired. I would have smiled at him, but I couldn't muster the ability to smile at that moment. He seemed to understand as he slipped my small, pale hand into his. "Ready to go up?" he asked me. I sighed and nodded. I could get through this. I would get through this.  
  
Even if it killed me.


	7. Moment of Weakness

Witness   
  
by Peaches the First  
  
A/N: Sorry about not updating, but I've been trapped in hell for the last month! Typing time is scarce, but I tried. I mean, babysitting two evil Spawns of Satan and their cat (which I really don't like) for two weeks, right after a wedding of an aunt and a funeral of a friend in only 25 hours! Gimmi a break here! RIP Aaron.  
  
Peaches the First  
  
7. Moment of Weakness  
  
Joey left on Wednesday. We all ate lunch at the bus depot. He'd given me a soft hug last, then boarded the bus back to Little Rock; away from the memories the rest of us had to endure. He hadn't been there for the initial shock. He simply didn't understand.  
  
The reading of the will had been on Tuesday afternoon. Since Ryan, still evading the law, was automatically excluded from the last will and testament of my mother, the house, her accounts, and the insurance money, all went distributed equally between my brothers and I. Her belongings, at least the things we didn't want, went to charity. I kept her jewelry. Her clothing went to her sister, my aunt Angelica. She had it shipped to New York that afternoon. Vitto, Joey, dad and I were left with the choice: Move into the house, or sell it and buy a new one. Sell our childhood and the last remnants of Florence Gambini, or move into the memories. We decided to give it a month before deciding. Or, rather the three men decided, and I sat by quietly on the ride back to dad's, my mind somewhere else entirely.   
  
It seemed so odd to me, yet so natural at the same time, that my thoughts should be consumed by Theodore Detwhieler after just settling the last business of my dead mother. Lifeline or not, my mind was simply spending too much time on the boy.  
  
Not that it bothered me.  
  
I'd last seen him on Monday night after the funeral. His mother had offered to make dinner for us all, on account of the "long day", as she'd so eloquently put a cushion on the reality of the matter. We sat around the Detwhieler's dining room table with them chewing on our bread rolls and words, swallowing the things we all needed to say along with the homemade soup. Truth went spilling down our throats while the masquerade of well-being surrounded us. William, Lauren and my father, all playing the parts of mature adult, reminisced, while Vitto and Joey struggled to impress them with their own false self-control. Only TJ and I sat, detached from their lie, in our own world, much like we did most of our lives, surviving on each other. Neither of us said a word, but I think we both understood each other. I know I understood him, even now when I didn't understand myself.  
  
Finally, in the bustle of after dinner dish gathering, we escaped the mass of liars and made our way to sanity and sanctuary. His room had always been like a little cavern of refuge for me, where I could just lay and listen to him play guitar, or talk about nothing or everything, avoid parents and homework, and just generally let my guard down.   
  
He seemed awkward. There was nothing to say; nothing that needed to be said, and I think that scared him. Someone as opinionated as myself having nothing to say must have come as both a relief, and as a surprise to him. It shocked me, after all.   
  
So we sat there in the room, complete silence, except for the clock ticking through our heads. I looked everywhere but at him; his guitar, the door, the computer, the window, the clock. I knew it would break me down to see his eyes. Their warmth and compassion, the gentleness and strength. It would crack my own shell of delusive strength. I was screaming on the inside, and I know he knew it. He wanted to get through to me, and I could sense it in the way he rubbed my shoulder and tried to catch my eye. My stubbornness kept pushing away his accommodating kindness, and his stubbornness kept him pushing it forward. The harder I pushed, the more he'd try. He didn't mind me being hardheaded.  
  
Finally, he put his finger under my chin and turned my face up to his. His eyes, those beautiful, soulful eyes, burrowed into my own smouldering black ones. I felt my throat grow sore as I tried to keep back my frail emotions and continue my stoic behaviour, but just another second of his gaze was all it took to break me.  
  
And I cried. It was too much, and it all came boiling over in an extravagant display of my weakness. I buried my face into his shirt, the same one he'd looked so ridiculously formal in hours before. I didn't care anymore. I really didn't give a damn. Every fear and apprehension and concern I'd ever had about being weak, while still lingering, was just insignificant and unworthy of my attention.  
  
He was hugging me when reality came back to me. Holding me just right; firmly enough to let me know he wasn't going to leave, but gently enough to give me breathing room. One arm was around my shoulder, that hand rubbing my back soothingly, his other hand cradling the back of my head. I thought I felt him kiss the top of my head, but I couldn't be sure. It was unfamiliar to me, being in contact with another human being. I'd gotten hugs from the mourners at the funeral, but they were stiff, formal, stolid embraces, devoid of feeling. As for Joey or Vitto having hugged me, it displayed the same sibling based love as a good fist fight with them when we were kids. TJ's hug was... pure. Not brought on by pity or obligation. Just pure... love? No, empathy. That was it. Love? Where had that come from?  
  
God, there I'd been letting myself cry for the first time in I didn't know how long, and I had been analysing how the boy-next-door hugged me! What the hell had been wrong with me?

-------

Dad, Vitto and I got back from the bus depot around two. I wondered if Vitto wanted his room back. Dad, who seemed to read my mind, told me I could stay in his room until we decided where to move in a month or so. Around two thirty, I was laying on "my" bed, staring at the ceiling fan. No one bothered me. In fact, no one had bothered me much since I'd gotten out of the hospital. Did they think I was going to break? I highly doubted I'd snap at the sound of a voice, but being left alone was what I'd always wanted.  
  
The doorbell rang around 3. I expected more sympathy bearers bringing food or flowers, but no. It was Police Chief Lawson and Detective Rudd. Rudd, skin as rubbery looking as ever, looked exhausted, and his business suit was wrinkled with what looked like a mustard stain on his cheap, beige clip-on tie. Chief Lawson had a coffee for dad, and was drinking a grande himself. Ah, the caffeine dependant life of a cop.  
  
"Robert, Vitto, Ashley," he nodded. Rudd grunted his salutations. "I thought we could discuss where to go and what to do concerning safety precautions, that is, if you're up to it. I realize it's been a trying time for your family."  
  
"No, now's as good a time as ever," dad said. He waved the men into the small living room. Rudd and Chief Lawson sat on the large couch, Dad and Vitto on the two-seater, and I claimed the armchair, curling up into a ball on the soft, treated leather. "What can you tell me about the case?"  
  
"As near as we can tell, Florence was killed around 10 pm. We've determined the weapon was a hammer we found in the garage. Mr Wood's fingerprints were all over it, as well as some blood. DNA tests showed it was Florence's. The official cause of death was loss of blood due to blunt force trauma to the cranium."  
  
Blunt force trauma to the cranium. They spoke about her like she was a statistic.  
  
"And Ryan?" dad asked. Rudd shook his head.   
  
"We're looking at a few leads," he sighed. "But nothing significant has turned up yet. We believe he may still be in and around Concord."  
  
"Which brings me to the point of safety," Chief Lawson said. "If he's seen the news, he knows it was Ashley who found the body..." He paused as he looked at me, like he expected me to take a fit right then and there. When I didn't react, he continued. "We'd like to put your apartment and the crime scene under 24 hour surveillance until we get a reasonable lead as to Mr Woods whereabouts."  
  
"That's fine," dad said. "Should I be concerned about him turning up?"  
  
"We don't know his state of mind or what his reaction would be to seeing Ms Spinelli," Rudd continued on Chief Lawson's behalf. "Until we get a psychological analysis done on him, we can't be sure of his motive for attacking his wife, or if he in any way blames Ashley for any of this. The mind of a criminal is a curious place."  
  
"In fact, we would like your permission to track your daughter for 72 hours," Chief Lawson said. "For security reasons."  
  
"You wanna follow me?" I blurted. I knew it was only precautionary, but I still felt rather violated.   
  
"Only for three days," Chief Lawson said. "And it's not because we have any suspicion in you, Ashley."  
  
"I think it's the best thing, Ashley," my dad said. "I'd feel better knowing you weren't alone."  
  
I knew I had no choice in the matter. My privacy and opinion made no difference to my father in the wake of my mother's death.  
  
"Fine," I muttered. "Just give me time to clear out all the illegal immigrants in my closet."  
  
"I'll send some of my men over to meet you tomorrow," Chief Lawson concluded, ignoring my comment. "Now, I need to ask you a few more questions about your mother's relationship with Ryan, Ashley. We need to narrow down the type of behaviour he displayed to see if we can determine what his state of mind was when he killed Florence, among other things."  
  
"I told you at the station, he used her for a punching bag," I snapped. How many times did I have to listen to the same inane questions? I'd gone into the station on Sunday afternoon to answer them and give a statement, what else was there?  
  
"What is the nature of your relationship with Ryan Wood?" Rudd asked.  
  
"He was my mother's husband," I sighed. "I'm guessing that makes him my step-father."   
  
"I mean your personal relationship, Miss Spinelli. Emotionally?"  
  
"Emotionally? We argued a lot. He didn't want me around. He acted fine when people were over, like mom's family and his. He'd make a big show of spoiling me when anyone was there."  
  
"Physically?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Physically, Miss. Abusive or... otherwise."  
  
"You sick shit!" Vitto snapped suddenly at Rudd. "What the hell do you mean by 'otherwise'!?"   
  
"Vitto!" Dad scolded him. Rudd didn't even flinch. His hard, cold eyes showed no sign of having taken offence to the comment. Of course, being in law enforcement, I was sure he'd heard worse.  
  
"Whatever you take 'otherwise' to be," I said glaring at Rudd proudly, "It never happened. He only hit me once in a while, if mom was out, or if we got into a big argument. I hated the sick bastard and I never 'did' anything with him."  
  
"Alright," Rudd said, "If you're positive..."  
  
"I think that's all, Mr Spinelli," Chief Lawson said quickly. "I have to file some reports back at the station. My men will be over within a day to set up surveillance on the house and apartment."  
  
"Thank you, Lawson." The men all shook hands, excluding Vitto to Rudd. Just about to leave, Chief Lawson turned and gave his sympathies about mom. Dad nodded. Vitto was quiet. I turned and left the room to go back into dad's/my room.   
  
I immediately picked up the phone and dialled TJ's number. It rang twice before someone answered.  
  
"Hello?" Lauren said. "Detwhieler residence."  
  
"Is TJ there, please?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Ashley, honey, he's gone out with Bill."  
  
"Oh, okay, well, can you tell him I called?"  
  
"Sure thing, bye."  
  
I hung up, and I remember thinking of how surprised I was. TJ was out with William Detwhieler? His adoptive father whom he swore he hated and would never trust again?  
  
It's funny how things change in only a few days. I almost laughed out loud at the thought 'what don't I know about TJ?'  
  
I had know way of knowing it then, but what I didn't know about TJ was nothing compared to what I didn't know about my own family... 

-------


	8. Author's Note

A/N: Hey guys! Okay, look: I would LOVE to update Witness and get to work on The Underdogs... Hell, even Those Returning has an ending as soon as I purge it from my brain. But here's the thing. My friend is moving near to where I am in town and she's due to go into labour in the next few weeks, so I'll be away from the computer until school starts helping her out. I love you ALL for your AWESOME support, especially GMC, thesolitary-dragon, Clintronic Waldrop, The Next Political Dynasty, xxxBlue Fire Princessxxx, Swimmerkitti, and xXxSarahxXx. I just figured that I should let you know where I am so GMC won't think I'm dead again. Also a lot of other drama going on in this town, so I have to deal with that! I might be around long enough to read and review your fics, but that's about it! A MILLION APOLOGIES!!! Thanks for understanding!

Love as Always,  
Peaches the Not-Around-So-Much-Anymore!!


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